Mount Everfall your skin knew battle before it knew war

Nero has no particular attachment to the Shadewood; he has no intentions of stealing it out from underneath Darcia. In truth, the Macedonian has not given much thought to what he would do once he has visited the places Mercury spoke of; and hadn’t truly planned this trip out beyond running from the duty he was expected to carry out, to be the one to press teeth into soft flesh of Manakin’s throat and steal his brother’s life. It was only after Nero reached the Wilds had he decided to see the places Mercury had dwelled, no matter how temporary. He is the disgraced heir and seeks no desire to try to make the visage of amends by visiting his father’s previous haunts. It is only an idea that came to him all the while to hide from the guilt that he feels stirring in the darkest corners of his heart. Guilt that he could not save, guilt that he could not kill. Of his own future he affords little thought. It is not in his paws, though, he thinks. It has never been his. It was predetermined by the Fates …or so that is how the myth goes. That everything is pre-determined. His choice. Tacita. Darcia. It was easy to believe that this …all of it was meant to be.

It was certainly less terrifying then admitting that he is the captain of his own fate, that he controls it and that his choices are many and each bears different fruit: some sweet and others rotten. Nero watches as his companion slides forward in a motion that almost seems too elegant for the broad titan. It causes a shiver to sliver down the umbra Macedonian’s spine as he imagined how the titan’s muscles might have moved with that simple, seamless action and if he moves as elegantly whilst in the intimate throes of passions. “The heavy rains made the rocky path it climbed slippery. It lost it’s footing for a few seconds but regained it’s balance. Not impossible,” He murmurs with amused cheek, though of course, he is goat-less and thus Nero understands how it would seem a foolish thing to hope for: a clumsy mountain goat. “Fortuna was watching over it.” For it was either divine intervention or …dumb luck.

“Oh a many great and terrible things,” He lightly jests with a low purl, reclining back upon his haunches. His ears flutter back to rest at half mast atop his skull. “I would not mind touching the sun.” He murmurs aloud with a soft, amused quirk of his lips. Nero has has heard (and told) the story of Icarus numerous times to know exactly what desiring the beautiful sun god wrought and yet it was an impossible fancy he could offer.